


Labored Love

by TheMulletWhisperer



Series: Into the Elizaverse [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, F/F, Flashbacks, Horror, Mild Gore, Mystery, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 22:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20397355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMulletWhisperer/pseuds/TheMulletWhisperer
Summary: Months after a disappearance, Helena follows a desperate lead, grasping at straws and running out of hope. Hanging on by a thread, she finally finds what she was looking for, though perhaps it wasn't something she wanted.





	Labored Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DefaultJane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefaultJane/gifts).

> Jesus shit this is longer than anything I've ever written.
> 
> Anyway, this is a gift work for DefaultJane who is always complaining that there's never any other works in her fandom, so here's this, imbued with my penchant for making everything into some weird adventure.

The lights of the sparse lampposts refracted and blurred as rain dashed itself against Helena’s windshield only to be swept away by the insistent windshield wipers, leaving behind streaks of water that would be broken only seconds later as more rain fell. The only source of light in the dark storm were the occasional streetlight and the fog lamps on the vehicle that cut quietly through the deafening rain. Without the lights, its black chassis would hardly be noticeable.  


To either side of the slick road were fields of unchecked wheat and grass that reached toward the sky, only to be stifled by the beating of the downpour on their dehydrated stalks, made hard and brittle by the brutal cold. While they were used to snow that blanketed the ground, suffocated their roots and dried their soil, they were just as well accustomed to the rain that would often assail them from far above.

_ Beaton Steel Mill, 3 miles _

The battered sign read, its decaying letters slightly concealed by creeping vines of kudzu, but only enough that it could be read. It was clear that whoever was in charge of upkeep had been slacking on their job, or perhaps nobody much cared anymore. The site in question had been stagnating and amid rumors of mass layoffs, a union strike had rendered it inoperable for the past month—a strike that showed no signs of stopping.  


A million thoughts ran through Helena’s head, drowning out the muffled chatter of the radio that had already been turned to its lowest without going silent. The white noise kept her sane on the drive, even if she wasn’t intent on listening to it. Indeed, it gnawed at the corners of her mind at times but she couldn’t bring herself to turn it off. There were far more important things at hand than whatever banal conversation the host of the hour was making with their guest. She’d long since forgotten what station was even playing. Politics? Talk? Late night? What time was it, even? The clock on her dashboard had long since drifted away from the correct time, but she’d never bothered to fix it, no matter Hunnigan’s insistence every time Helena drove.  


Almost twenty four hours had passed since she’d first begun down the road, but her stops were few and only of the utmost importance. Her arms and legs had long since lost feeling and were operating on muscle memory alone, a dangerous state but it had nonetheless kept her on her path for the past six hours, and she doubted she would meet any cars on this particular road. Her stomach protested for the bag of chips she’d purchased at a gas station earlier that day, but to eat them would mean stopping.

Independent of the hunger that raged in her stomach, her arms and fingers shook, anticipation and adrenaline fueling her on their own ever since she’d crossed the state border into Delaware. Despite this, she forced herself not to think about whatever may lie ahead. That would entail accepting some potentially… uncomfortable ideas, ones she’d put to rest months ago that were threatening to be dug up.

Over the hill crested the first smokestacks of the steel mill, lit by the ever-present emergency lights that must have been left on when the plant was closed temporarily. Now it stood silent, an industrial husk in the ever-present storm that almost seemed to repel the water that fell. Usually, this plant would have a guard. Now it lacked even those minor stirrings, the glare of a flashlight and the steps of a well-oiled pair of shoes.  


Helena pulled over to park near the gatehouse, peering toward it through her window. Whatever might be in there was impossible to discern through the streaked rain. With a resigned sigh, she collected her raincoat from the passenger’s seat, hardly intending for the rain to let up before she investigated further. With the click of her seat buckle, she leaned forward and pulled the coat over her button-down, zipping up the front and flipping the hood over her short-cut hair.  


She stepped out of the agency-issued cruiser and closed the door behind her as quietly as she could, hoping not to arouse any suspicion. The gates were sealed shut by an electronic lock, unable to be picked or scaled. She turned her attention to the gatehouse. Also locked, but not electronically. For a moment she considered the set of lockpicks she’d brought with her, but decided against it, instead laying all her weight into her shoulder and slamming into the flimsy door. Although it took a few strikes, the latch bent out of place and allowed her entry.  


Inside was small and cramped, room only for a small computer, a monitor, and the button beneath the shelf that opened the gates. Helena said a silent prayer before clicking the button. Mercifully, it made no buzz or beep as it trundled open, the rattling of the links suppressed by the rainfall. She turned and left the door broken behind her, sparing a moment of attention to her hip to ensure she’d brought her handgun before stepping past the threshold and into the parking lot proper.  


Once again, the lot was abandoned, now populated only by the small fleet of freight trucks with the Beaton logo painted on the box and cabin, most certainly untouched for the past month. Only one car seemed out of place. A small four-door SUV, what looked like an older model Land Rover, was parked near the main entrance, the engine still running but the headlights switched off. Indeed, if it weren’t for the exhaust spilling from the tailpipe, she likely wouldn’t have even noticed.

Helena unclasped the latch of her holster and wrapped her fingers tight around the grip of her pistol, approaching the vehicle and peering through the windows. The inside was messy, the floors covered in old papers, tools, and snack food wrappers. On the passenger’s seat sat a Beaton-branded toolbox, lid popped open for all to see the disorganized set of repairman’s tools, propping up a pale green hard hat. Nothing inside looked particularly out of the ordinary, but it was still very much an oddity that it was there in the first place. The woman who’d made the call was supposed to be offsite.

Her heart sank. Police hadn’t been dispatched, the call had been forwarded directly from dispatch to the DSO. If this was what they thought it was…

She picked up her pace and pushed through the front doors, somewhat recklessly. Just as she’d feared, there seemed to be signs of a struggle in the lobby. The receptionist’s desk lamp had been knocked to the floor and seemed to be illuminating a few small droplets of blood on the floor, no doubt shaken from the monkey wrench that lay next to them in a similar state. Helena wasn’t certain which possibility was worse, that the call had been a different matter entirely and the girl had been apprehended by some heinous killer, or that the call was  _ correct _ .

Excitement battled dread as she continued deeper into the facility, the dull lights intermittently lining the hallway lighting her way every few feet, guiding her in the right direction. In her haste to leave, she’d forgotten to bring her flashlight, and neglected to purchase one at any of her few stops. Internally she debated waiting until morning, but the risk of waiting another moment longer was too much to bear. This…  _ thing _ , whatever it was, had been plaguing her for the past month, had stolen away her first happiness in a long time, and she would be damned if it was about to escape.  


Her gun now in hand, she continued to search rooms, flicking lights on as she went, though they only seemed to illuminate a few bulbs at a time.  _ What a weird design _ , she thought to herself passively, peering into each room as she passed, paranoia of some terrible beast catching her by surprise and chasing her to the ends of the facility and back hammered in by the stories Leon had told her.  


“Mmmph!” One of the rooms that flanked Helena made a sound and she jumped, firing off a shot that shattered one of the emergency lights. The muffled, musical humming turned into a muffled, decidedly un-musical scream and allowed her to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. One of the rooms she passed was sealed by a locked door, protected by wire mesh glass. She peered through, half expecting the face of a grotesque monster to slam into the door. Instead, what she found was a person, tied to a chair and illuminated by the light of the refrigerator left open behind her.  


“Hold on.” She whispered, though the gunshot had no doubt destroyed any ability to remain stealthy. This time, brute force wouldn’t work. These doors were heavy and thick, constructed to the highest standard. Except, of course, for the locks. To someone experienced with a pick, locks were a simply aesthetic placebo, intended to instill a sense of security where none existed. She was one of those people, a professional made by a casual hobby.

In moments the wrench caught and the lock turned, allowing her to pull the door open with a slight grunt of exertion. For a moment she fumbled for the lightswitch before she managed to flick it on. The captive in question was no doubt the owner of the idling vehicle. She wore a light gray jumpsuit that cut off at her wrists and a pair of faded red overalls tucked into the ankle of her work boots. From nearly every pocked protruded some wrench or oily rag.  


Surprisingly, she seemed to have no visible injury despite the blood in the lobby. No doubt that of the one she sought.

_ Good. _

“Mmph!” The technician grunted again to bring Helena’s attention back to the real world, jolting forward and lifting the legs of the chair for a hair of a moment before they slammed back down on the ground.  


“Hang on.” Helena once again whispered, now instinctual rather than purposeful. She approached the bound woman and produced a small, serrated pocket knife from her jacket, something she  _ had  _ thought to purchase at one of the gas stations. It made short work of the flimsy, bloodstained ropes and the woman had pulled herself free in moments, tugging down the gag to hang around her neck.  


“Fuck!” Her voice was, in contrast to Helena, loud, brash, and surprisingly British. "How long did it take to drive up the road you fuckin' bint?! I've been here all bloody day tied up to this chair!" Her voice was almost louder than the gunshot had been. "What's your badge number or whatever?! I'm going to sue your balls off!" She continued raving as she leapt to her feet and began pacing around the room, snatching up her discarded hard hat. From here, Helena had a better look at her. The woman was rather pretty—for all she could admit to herself at the moment. Her face was a rather prominent one overall, her jawline sharp as her nose and eyes, a smattering of freckles sprinkled just below her pale azure eyes. Her short-cropped hair was a light chestnut that framed the rest of her face rather well.

“Look,” Helena stepped forward, her voice demanding as it could be without speaking too loudly. “There’s something more going on here, nobody expected you’d still be hanging around. Your car’s still out there, you need to leave  _ now _ .” She reached out to seize the woman by the arm but was met with an indignant scoff and a recoil.

“What are you on about? I called in and said I came round to fix some shit around here, why would I  _ leave _ ?” The way she spoke it seemed almost like she were saying something obvious as she wrenched herself free. "Some dumb bastard wants to slink around some closed down steel plant, whatever. I'm not gettin' paid to deal with that, I'm gettin' paid to fix up some machines." She hunched down and dug around among the dust beneath the break room table. "But no, apparently slinky cunts don't want me pokin' around here so they tie me up."

As she continued to ramble, Helena tried to gather her thoughts at this development. Dozens of leads and she'd never come across the person who'd  _ reported _ it, much less still alive. "I…" she stammered uncharacteristically, "who  _ are _ you?" She finally worked her voice out of her throat. "And what are you doing here?"

The woman sat back on her haunches, looking at Helena like she was an idiot. "You some kinda idiot? I told you, I'm here to work. You know. Get paid? Money?" She sighed and shook her head at the dirty look Helena gave her, returning to her mysterious search, crawling across the dust-caked floor and rummaging through the cabinets under the sink. "Where's the fuckin'..."  


Helena peered around the room with a heavy sigh, gripping the roots of her hair to distract from the growing headache at the top of her skull. "Who—" She snapped, instantly quieting down in an attempt to regain her composure, nostrils flaring as she breathed in and out. "Who  _ are _ you, and what're you looking for?" Her eyes tracked the worker's harried search.  


"My wrench." The answer came back instantly. "And my hard hat." Her voice was rough and she turned her attention to the refrigerator, digging through the thawed contents. "I thumped one of the slimy little fucks good on the head, I bet they hid it from me." A growl escaped from her throat.

"Who the  _ fuck  _ are you?!" Helena shouted, tired of her question being constantly ignored. Perhaps her anger was a bit too intense, judging by how the woman nearly jumped out of her skin and several tupperware containers tumbled off the shelves and onto the floor, leaving old, expired food splattered all over the tile.

"Fuck, lady!" The worker chastised, hands visibly shaking. "Don't you ever listen?! Fuck, my name's Eliza—E-li-za! I told you three fuckin' times!" Her voice shivered and she tried to calm herself down, eyes wide and a hand over her heart. It seemed to be a reaction borne less out of fear and more out of the constant high tension the poor girl was operating off of. “Jesus!” She gasped a stabilizing breath and pushed to her feet, ruffling her hair.

The two fell silent for a moment, both trying to calm their respective nerves. Naught but heavy breathing passed between the two before Helena finally spoke up. “Your wrench is in the lobby and I think your hard hat is in your car.” She straightened up, pulling down the hood of her raincoat and running a hand through her own hair. “You need to get out of here.” She interjected before Eliza could say anything.

Once again, Helena was shot a look like she was saying something wrong. "You fuckin' mad? These dicks tied me up in the  _ break room _ , I'm not lettin' them go! Just let me get my wrench and hard hat and I'll be right back." Eliza started for the door but was once again stopped by Helena's hand on her arm.  


"Woah woah!" She shouted, pulling the worker back into the room, perhaps a bit too rough. "You're not going anywhere but home, if you die I'm getting another mark on my record, so go grab your wrench, get in your car, and  _ leave. _ " Helena spoke firmly and impatiently, hardly willing to suffer this woman's bravado, no matter how admirably stubborn she was. Besides, she seemed rather… forgetful. Amongst  _ many  _ other problems.

“Fuck off! I’m coming with you, I don’t care what you say.” Eliza tried to pull her arm free but was unable to break Helena’s grip, which only tightened as the anger returned. “Let go!” She shouted, lunging at her assailant’s arm and trying to pull it away. No avail. The two struggled against each other for a time before Eliza had enough. She staggered her feet, cocked her elbow back, and sunk her fist right into the side of Helena’s face.  


That strike broke the dam and her victim quickly retaliated with a punch of her own, an unexpected one at that. The shock that cast over Eliza’s face turned into anger as she tackled Helena against the breakroom table and began trying to strike back, only to find herself blocked at every turn. What would likely be a fistfight turned into a back-and-forth dance of parrying and ducking, both experienced enough not to be hit but too inexperienced to counter a dodge. Eventually, they wore each other out long after the pain of the initial blows had subsided.

The two fell away from one another, sweaty and out of breath the both of them. Eliza slumped back in the chair she'd been tied to and Helena perched on the edge of the dining table. "Look," Helena huffed out, running a hand through her damp hair. "Whoever this is, they're not just some trespasser. They kidnapped an agent of the DSO and didn't leave a damn trace. I'm trained for this, you  _ aren't _ .”

" _ Fuck that. _ " Eliza's voice was emphatic, even through her panting. She leaned forward with an elbow on her knee and jabbed a finger in Helena's direction. "That slimy bastard put his hands all over me and tied me to a chair. I'm gonna beat his shit in, and you're not gonna stop me." She paused with a sigh, "So we should probably go in together. I know this place like the back of my hand, and I'm not bad in a scrap either."

Helena scoffed and stood up, rubbing her now-aching jaw absently as she thought. The girl had held her own, that was certain. And against  _ Helena  _ of all people. She turned the idea over in her mind, but eventually simply came to the conclusion it was futile to try and deny her. Defeated, she threw up her hands in momentary surrender. "Fine. But if you get killed or scare this guy off, I'm not taking the fall for it." She wasn't certain she was addressing Eliza, even though she spoke aloud. "Go get your wrench and whatever else." She waved a hand and stood up one of the toppled chairs.  


"Jolly." Eliza's voice was nasally and mocking, filled with something that wasn't quite hostility, but was close enough. "If anyone scared him off, it was you with that itchy fuckin' trigger finger you got." She peeked out the door at the emergency light that had been so ruthlessly massacred before disappearing from sight, leaving Helena behind in the quiet, thoroughly ransacked room.

_ "I got called in. Something big happened, I don't know what. I'll be home later, goodnight." _

_ The answering machine clicked off. Her voice was unreadable, as usual. One thing was for certain, when she left those messages she was always right. It would be long past midnight by time she walked back through that door. Helena had learned that lesson, so she kicked off her shoes, gorged on her takeout, and sat in front of the T.V until she fell asleep. _

"That little pissant bled more than I thought." Eliza's voice echoed as she slipped through the for, hefting a pipe wrench caked in dried blood and missing its rubber handle. On her head was perched the hard hat, hiding her disheveled hair from view. "The fuck didn't you turn off my car, by the way? The battery died as soon as I opened the damn door. You'd better give me a jump on the way out of here."

Helena sighed and stood lazily, checking the holster at her hip to make sure her weapon was secure. "You should've turned it off when you got out." She adjusted her coat impatiently, "Are you ready to go?"

"What, no 'Happy to see you, Eliza', 'Thanks for agreeing to come with me, Eliza'? Some hero you are." She scoffed and followed Helena out of the door, who openly rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I'll take the lead." She made to push past her newfound companion but was stopped by a firm hand on her chest.

"No, you won't." Helena shot back, flipping on one of the many many light switches in the hallway. "I'm the one with the gun, just stay behind me and give me directions." She began forward without giving Eliza any chance to reply, forcing her to play catch up from behind. Shortly they found themselves at a set of stairs leading down deeper into the plant, though there was no lightswitch to be seen. “What kind of design  _ is  _ this?” Helena whispered, rubbing her forehead and digging around in vain search of the flashlight she knew she’d forgotten.

“Idiot design.” Eliza scoffed. “The engineer fucked up the blueprints apparently so now we have a lightswitch tied to every two lights.” Helena could hear the sound of footsteps fading behind her. “Come here, we’ve got a workaround.” With a slight air of pride, she made for one of the nearest doors, leaving Helena to scramble up behind this time. "Th—" As she opened the door she prepared an explanation but was cut off by a scream as she was yanked into the darkness by the wrist.

"Fuck!" Helena burst through the door and began feeling along the wall for the light switch, trying to keep an ear on the scuffle audible somewhere deeper in the room. The clang of the wrench, Eliza's shouted swears, and the shuffle of feet echoed off the walls. Finally, she found what she was searching for and flipped on the switch, momentarily blinded by the sudden harsh white fluorescents. As her vision cleared and she laid eyes on the thing that had taken Eliza she couldn't hold back a small gasp of disgust.  


Whatever that  _ thing _ was, it definitely wasn't what she'd expected. It was human, though only vaguely so. Its flesh was leathery and a sickly yellow as if its liver had long ago failed and its legs seemed to have been artificially extended, perhaps after it had been brought into being if the way it staggered as it moved were anything to go by. The worst of it, though, by far, was the face. Or rather, what could be called a face. The beast may as well have had no flesh on it at all, the skin had sunken to hug the contours of its skull and it seemed to lack lips entirely, its large, horse-like teeth exposed. Where ears would be on the side of the head seemed simply to be patched over by a sloppy graft of noticeably different colour to the rest of it, though there seemed to be no holes through which it could hear.  


Helena was paralyzed trying to figure out what she was looking at. No doubt it was a bioweapon, but it was one she'd never encountered before. Judging by its state, it almost seemed to be homemade, which had implications of its own. Either they were chasing someone far more well connected than she'd anticipated, or they'd taken up an interest in necromancy.

"Would you," Eliza grunted, trying to angle her wrench with one hand while holding the thing at arm's length with the other, "fucking shoot this goddamn thing?!" She finished with a shriek as it slammed into her body and sent the both of them toppling to the ground, now struggling even harder for dominance over the other.

The scream shocked Helena out of her awestruck state and she raised her gun, trying to line up a shot that wasn't liable to kill the girl pinned underneath the beast. The struggle went on for what felt like entire minutes before she finally squeezed the trigger. As the bullet ricocheted off the floor and embedded itself into a nearby panel, Helena's ears began ringing. She could vaguely recall the sound of the shot, but the room was far smaller than she was expecting and her ears were unable to handle the noise.  


By the time her senses had come back around, she was met with the sight of the thing that had attacked the girl laying dead on the ground in a pool of thick, foul smelling blood with a major gash on its temple where no doubt the skull had cracked. Eliza stood over its corpse, her wrench dripping with a fresh coat. "Thanks for the help." She deadpanned, "I can see why the FBI-CIA-whatever sent you to deal with this." She inspected the damage to the panel that had taken the impact of the rogue bullet. "Least you didn't break anything important." She muttered, wiping the blood off her face with the back of her sleeve.  


"Would you rather I have shot you?" Helena snapped back. The short exchange was ended when Eliza scoffed and retreated to busy herself in some panel or another scattered across the walls of the room. What Helena found herself focused on was the body of the creature that had just attacked them. Closer inspection told her it was no doubt a sloppy and rushed job, or perhaps just one done by someone inexperienced. Scars mapped its body, as if its insides had been somehow changed. Helena wasn't keen to open it up and find out. Even so, most bioweapons were simply injected and then forgotten about but  _ this  _ was different, almost as if the person who'd created it had a very specific idea about what it was supposed to look like. No matter what, it was disturbing to look at.  


"Right," Eliza spoke over a deafening clunking sound, "lights are on." She dusted her hands off as if she'd just accomplished some Herculean task and returned to Helena's side, observing the thing for itself. "Creepy little fuck, isn't it? What the  _ hell  _ are these things doing around the plant, I don't recall Jerry ever puttin' in an order for…" She was clearly trying to come up with a comparison but couldn't quite make a connection in her mind with anything else. "Creepy little fucks." She finished lamely, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm not going through any doors first this time."

Helena heaved a sigh and pushed up to her feet, giving the thing a slight nudge with the tip of her foot to ensure it wasn’t going to jump up at them the moment they turned their backs. Satisfied, she turned back without a word and stepped back out into the hallway. True to her word, Eliza had lit up the stairwell, which seemed to lead much deeper than she’d originally imagined. “Where the hell does that go?” She threw the question over her shoulder, peering down into the hallway below. “I didn’t know steel mills ran this deep.”

“That’s the power room, fuck knows why the built the hall to the actual  _ mill  _ part through there but… eh, this are the dipshits who fucked up a simple lightswitch.” Helena could hear the rustling of her overalls and the clinking of the assorted tools as Eliza shrugged. She stood there for a moment, unsure, before a hand on her back shoved her forward, nearly sending toppling over the side. “Go on!” The prodding voice came from behind her. While she contemplated whirling around and planting another one right across the side of the cocky girl’s face, there were more important things to do, and they were wasting time. Carefully, she began the silent descent.

_ “I might as well tell you.”  
_

_ It had been two days, with no sign and no word. The director sat across from her in his office, fingers steeped over his desk.  
_

_ “We were after someone. We think they used to be with Umbrella, maybe had some t-virus left over and were planning some sort of attack. We didn’t want to set the BSAA on them, not yet, that would panic people. I never thought…” He trailed off and the two sat in a tense silence. “She was just the analyst, I don’t even know how they knew who she was.” _

_ “But they did.” Helena’s voice was curt and angry. She was trying not to lash out at something, like she had been the last two days now. “What are you going to do about it?” _

“Oi!” Eliza grabbed Helena’s shoulder and steered her away from the pipe she was about to run face-first into. She was shocked back to reality by the guiding hand. “Your head’s in the clouds, get it out. I don’t wanna die ‘cause you’re not payin’ attention, secret agent lady.” Her voice was insistent and demanding, as if she were the one in charge despite cowering behind Helena the whole time.  


“Just…” She gritted her teeth, firing a venomous look back at Eliza. Her boiling blood calmed a bit when she saw the mildly concerned look on her companion’s face and she took a deep breath. “Thank you.” The words were nearly inaudible but the smirk on Eliza’s face told her that she’d heard just fine.  


“Anytime.” She patted her on the shoulder and fell silent, a nonverbal cue for them to continue. And continue they did, as much as Helena would’ve liked to do otherwise, if only to spite Eliza. “What’s got in your head anyway, you looked all… out there. You sure you’re alright? Is it that thing back there creepin’ you out? Woulda thought you agent types had seen worse.” Her rambling continued incessantly, breaking through the silence like nails on a chalkboard.  


“Look,” Helena cut her off, suddenly stopping and turning on her heel to face the woman. “It’s not… whatever that thing is. I  _ knew  _ you wouldn’t be able to grasp exactly what we were after, that’s why I told you not to come, but  _ no _ , you had to anyway.” She jabbed an accusatory finger into Eliza’s face. “You might’ve been able to deal with that thing back there, but if this is what we think it is, we’re both in  _ way  _ over our heads.”

“So why are  _ you _ here without backup?” Eliza countered, crossing her arms as a rather offended look crossed over her sharp features. “I’ve seen a shit of a lot more than you think I might have, so why don’t you try me? What are we up against here, exactly?” She continued before Helena could cut in.  


Helena tilted her chin up ever so slightly and appraised the girl. With a sigh, she nodded. “Fine.” She grunted, dropping her arms to her side and glancing furtively over her shoulder for any unwanted eavesdroppers. “The DSO has  _ apparently _ been after some Umbrella doctor that managed to get away with a few vials of T-Virus. They—we—all thought they were some sort of ghost. Until they kidnapped one of our agents on her way home. We’ve had word out with police dispatch in the surrounding states, which is why I’m here. A full mobilization would’ve meant a huge drain on resources and for all we knew, you were some hysterical worker who was jumping at shadows.” She pushed through Eliza’s slightly offended side glare, “But if that  _ thing _ was anything to judge by, we were right, and this person has access to at least some amount of T-Virus.”

“And you had a personal connection with that agent.” Eliza tacked on without skipping a beat, leaving Helena reeling. She stared at the worker, trying not to show how stunned she was at the sudden burst of insight, but failed miserably. “Come on, don’t give me that look.” She chastised, shaking her head, “You’d obviously have waited around for backup or let the police handle it if you didn’t have  _ something  _ personal going on here.”

Helena stared for a moment and shook her head, taking a step back. “Come on, we don’t have time to waste.” Her question dodging was obvious but she didn’t much care. For now, all that mattered was finding her way to the end of what promised to be an interminable maze of hallways and dangers. She turned back and continued through the power room, largely ignoring the hulking devices chugging away to provide the facility with its electricity.

_ The one month anniversary of the disappearance. She’d bought a cake for herself, even if the knot in her stomach meant she couldn’t eat it. _

_ Dozens of false leads, endless sleepless nights and overtime hours. There wasn’t an abandoned building in Maryland that she hadn’t picked over personally. _

_ Hope was fading. _

The generator room let out into the factory floor and all at once they were surrounded by dormant behemoths, giant vats and blast furnaces that would have no doubt held molten steel and driven up the temperature of the floor by dozens of degrees if the factory were active. Now, though, the overworked air conditioner turned it into a walk-in freezer where Helena could almost see her own breath lingering in the air in front of her. Just as the rest of the factory, it would have been completely quiet were it not for the abysmally loud woman taking up the rear.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Eliza shrieked as no doubt the full brunt of the cold hit her through the thick fabric of her jumpsuit and overalls. “I keep telling Brad to turn off the air when he leaves at night, how long has this shit been running?!” She looked up at the ceiling into the fluorescent lights that hung high above, between the conveyors and to HVAC ducts that snaked across the ceiling like vines. “This is going to be  _ hell  _ on the bills.” She muttered to herself, hugging her arms to her chest.

“Why do you care?” Helena questioned idly, not exactly keen on interacting with Eliza but willing to do anything to break the oppressive silence of the cavernous room. “Last I checked all the workers here were unionizing because the guys in charge were spending a lot on useless crap.” The strikes had been in the news for the past month, ever since they’d begun. The Beaton family supplied a large amount of steel in the eastern U.S, and without workers in the plants, the stock market had gone into a temporary panic. If it weren’t for her constant T.V watching to distract herself, it was likely she wouldn’t have been paying attention at all.

The only response to her question was a quiet grunt and she assumed the conversation was over until Eliza spoke up several seconds later, “I guess you’re right.” Her voice was evasive and sounded somewhat defeated, but now wasn’t the time to pry into whatever personal matters Eliza may have with her job. Frankly, Helena didn’t care.

They paused near the center of the factory floor to catch their bearings. Helena had no idea where she was going, and she made it known. “Do you have any idea where a crazy person would hide out here? Maybe a back room or an office?” She turned to face her tail and fiddled with her handgun, constantly wary that one of those things was going to jump out at her at any moment.

“Mmm.” Eliza made a small noise in thought, scratching at her neck. “I don’t know. This place is really fucking big.” She scanned the upper catwalks. “I’d say it’s a shitshoot, the offices are up there but there’s also a storage area down that way.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder toward some place deeper in the factory. “We could split up but I’m not sure you could handle yourself if some scary monster jumped out.” Her face split in a shit-eating grin and she twirled the wrench in her hand.  


Helena had to consciously choose to ignore the taunting. There were more important things at hand but she would be damned if she didn’t want to throw Eliza into the basement and lock her away to be attacked by anything that would come crawling up. “We’ll check out the offices first, then.” She glanced up at the catwalk. “Where are the stairs up?” The slide of her gun clicked quietly as she checked to make sure there was still a round in the chamber—habit more than need.

“Erm…” Eliza raised an eyebrow, “You know the evil villain’s lair or whatever is usually in the basements, right?” She threw a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the basement. While it wasn’t visible, it was no doubt nearby. “Besides, there’s not a lot to  _ find  _ up there, mostly it’s just the manager’s place.” She shrugged, turning her attention back to Helena. “But hey, you’re the  _ boss _ , right?” Her emphasis was somewhat derisive.

“Yes, I  _ am _ .” Helena returned with condescension of her own. “Not that I have to justify myself, but whatever’s up in the office could hold some sort of clue, tell us who  _ exactly  _ it is we’re dealing with. I find it really hard to believe that this doctor or whatever chose this place at random.” She glanced about idly, searching for any hint of disruption in the lights as something passed in its path. Nothing seemed to be moving, the factory was dead as could be. Perhaps the creature they’d killed had been the kidnapper. Time would tell.

“Hmph.” Eliza grunted, “Good point.” She jerked her head to the side in a silent gesture for Helena to follow, which, this time, she did without complaining. “Watch your step in the stairs, you’ll hit your head ‘round a corner if you’re not careful, damn place was built for gremlins.” Her commentary seemed half-directed at some irritating third party that Helena wasn’t aware of, but she paid heed nonetheless, keeping her head low as they ascended.

From the catwalks she could see just how extensive the factory was. Smelting machines and vats stretched as far as the eye could see and the conveyer belt above snaked its way across the ceiling in a dead-straight path across several platforms and open spaces, no doubt meant to deliver heavier cargo when there was no other available machinery. Eliza seemed to be watching them like a proud parent and it wasn’t hard to see what her job was—or perhaps had been. Her extensive knowledge of the facilities was not uncommon, but she seemed to have her own workarounds for the systems and took an uncharacteristically silent pride in the state of the factory’s machines. She was certainly the local technician, perhaps the only one on the site.

“Hey,” Helena cut through the silence, looking over the side of the railing. Eliza made a small sound in the back of her throat in acknowledgement, but didn’t turn around. “What did you mean earlier when you said you’d seen a lot more than I thought. What did you mean?” The thought had come suddenly but was not unwelcome. Her companion was reading her like a book while she completely failed to glean any amount of deeper information from the woman.  


A momentary pause marked her apprehension before she continued as if her gait hadn’t broken in the slightest. “You’re one of those DSO types. You know that shit that happened in D.C a few years back?” Helena knew it well, Leon had been there to tell her the stories. “I got caught up in that off on a run to deal with something at another plant. That thing back there, it was  _ fucked  _ up, and I mean  _ fucked up _ . Fucked up in ways I can’t even imagining thinking of. Fucked up in—” She cut herself off and cleared her throat, glancing back over her shoulder. “The point is, it was fucked up, but it’s nothing compared to what I saw in D.C.” The tone of her voice took on a strained quality that told Helena not to pry, no matter how much she wanted to. What Leon told her gave her enough of an idea.  


“I’m sorry.” For the first time, her words had no hostility in them and—though perhaps it was simply Stockholm Syndrome—she felt badly for the girl.  


“Here we are.” Eliza’s voice had returned to its usual cheer and she jiggled the door handle, groaning deep in her chest as she found it locked. “Where did I…” She dug around in her myriad pockets, eventually coming up empty with an irritated sigh. Her face set in stony thought before her face lit up. “Oh! Hold on here a second, I’ll be right back.” She slapped Helena on the shoulder a bit too far and took off in the opposite direction, back toward the stairs.

“Wait, where...?!” She tried to give pursuit but gave up after a couple of steps as Eliza disappeared down the stairs. Either she would run into one of those things again and kill it, or she’d come back with whatever treasure she was chasing after. Helena returned to guarding the locked door and leaned up against the wall.

_ Nothing. _

_ Nothing again.  
_

_ They had been so close, a positive I.D for the first time since the hunt had begun. That tiny spark of hope that had welled up in her chest was smothered once again. Perhaps there was no hope of salvaging the situation. _

_ Not anymore. _

“Here we are!” Eliza returned shortly after, bearing with her a jingling key ring full of various identical keys. How she could tell them apart Helena would never know, but she nonetheless selected the right one the first go and unlocked the door. “Phillip never locks up his locker and leaves the master keys just sittin’ in there.” She explained, pushing the flimsy door open. “After you, m’lady.” She placed two fingers on the brim of her hardhat and tilted her chin down. Despite wanting to push her off the catwalk, Helena instead decided just to step inside.

The office was stuffy and cluttered. Three desks sat pushed up against walls in various corners, each strewn with papers stacked haphazardly in their own unique way. While one of the desks was copiously decorated with frills and pictures, another was cold and desolate, the only sign of actual human habitation the papers that bulged from their stacks. The computers that sat in the center were woefully old, beige CRT monitors hooked up to 16 GB towers tucked under the foot of the desk and gathering dust, one of them still bearing a sticker warning after Y2K.

Between the desks were pushed filing cabinet after filing cabinet, shoulder-to-shoulder with drawers ajar and no labels to share between them. A cursory glance inside told her that the folders were hardly organized either, some of them worn and cracked at the edges from overuse.  


What few windows adorned the walls were caked in grime and blocked off by cabinets and desks, frames fused shut through ages of disuse. The entire area felt suffocating and smelled of old paper and printer ink. It almost felt as if she’d entered some room untouched for the last fifty years.

“Right, general manager’s over there,” Eliza pointed to the desk covered in personal pictures and pink knicknacks. “HR is there,” she indicated the cold and undecorated desk. “and supervisor is there.” She motioned to the more sparsely-populated—but no less cluttered—desk in the far corner. “Knock yourself out, I’ll just be…” She paused, looking around for a brief moment before snatching one of the peeling desk chairs and sinking into it, its joints screaming in displeasure, “sitting here, waiting for you to be done.” She propelled herself back until she bumped into a water-stained wall and rested her ankle on her knee, folding her arms over her chest and relaxing.  


“Right…” Helena muttered and approached the desk of the general manager, wiggling the worn-down mouse to try and wake up the slumbering beast. Sluggishly it responded, the fans in the case whirring as if they were about to take off from an airstrip. As the monitor awoke, it displayed an old Windows 95 interface, its desktop no less cluttered than the desktop she sat at currently.  


Only a few windows were open; an internet browser, what appeared to be an in-house program used for tracking employees, and a payroll sheet. Of those, the browser was the only one that caught her attention. It took a few moments to display the window from the taskbar, but what came up held a single tab—a company intranet email overflowing with unopened messages. Most were simply the echoes of disarray during the worker’s strike, but one name caught her eye—a name that she’d gotten to know well over the past hour.  


_ We need to do something about eliza _

The subject line was simple and it piqued Helena’s interest. She clicked on the message and waited for the agonized husk next to her feet to shake off the cobwebs and load. On a surface examination it looked to be between the general manager of the current location and someone from an overseas server whose name didn’t come up. It had been dated two days before the strike had begun.

Finally, the inbox was replaced by the e-mail text box and Helena hunched forward, poring over the sharp, blocky letters.  


_ “Jackie, _

_ Eliza’s been pissing me off more than usual, sending off her messages over here. I keep telling her they don’t want to talk to her but she won’t f******* listen. I don’t know who she’s involved with over there, but it’s not good for any of us. Think of how it would look for us if this got out. I don’t care what you have to do, take something to the police over there and tell them it was her, we can’t have this coming back to bite us in the arse because she’s involved with these people.  _

_   
_ _ Deal with it, now.” _

Helena barely had time to react when she felt a pressure at the back of her head and her blood ran cold. “Don’t move.” Eliza’s voice was calm from behind her as whatever it was pressed into her skull. She’d let her guard down and her gun was in its holster. If what she felt was true, though, she wouldn’t have time to grab it before the worst happened. “So, you’ve figured it out. Bravo.” She clapped a hand against her leg. “I never thought you’d piece it together.”

She took a deep breath to stabilize herself and the pressing at the back of her head became more insistent and she hardly dared breathe. “What is… why did…” She was somewhat bewildered, not only that she’d let her guard down but that someone like Eliza would have done something like this.  
“Oh don’t be so coy, agent. I’ve been following you around for ages now, just like I did your little friend.” Her laugh was chilling, but there was something more beneath it that Helena couldn’t quite place. “You walked right into the trap. I figured you wouldn’t put up much of a fight after that display with ol’ Stiltlegs but I had to be sure. You’re a DSO type after all.”

“Where is she?” Helena growled, hardly able to contain her anger at this point. She was prone to go off at any moment and simply call Eliza’s bluff. Maybe she didn’t have a gun after all, maybe, if she could just reach her pistol…  


“Who, Agent…” Eliza paused as if caught in something, “Thompson?” Her voice took on a questioning lilt before the cold feeling dropped away. Before Helena could react a peal of laughter rang through the offices. “I’m fucking with you!” A clattering sound came from one of the desks as she set down whatever she was holding. “It was a spanner, I’d probably just kill someone with a gun.”

Helena’s blood boiled and she spun around, jumping to her feet and advancing until she was only inches away from Eliza, seizing her by the collar of her overall and staring deeply, malevolently into her eyes. “What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with you?!” She shouted, but all that seemed to do was make Eliza flinch a bit in surprise rather than fear. “I was inches away from fucking putting a bullet in you, and maybe I still will!” Spit was flying from her mouth and she could feel her face go red. This seemed to do the trick and Eliza shrunk back.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Her voice sounded uncharacteristically small and for the first time since they’d met, she stammered, looking as if she was about to bolt. “I was just joking.” She repeated her rationalization and yelped when Helena banged her fist on the table in rage, using her other hand that was fisted in her overalls to shake her.  


“Yeah, you fucking dipshit, you didn’t  _ think  _ is what you didn’t do!” Her voice was going raw from the screaming and she found herself almost automatically letting go of Eliza, turning away so she didn’t have to look at her face. Her breathing was heavy as her heart raced and adrenaline pumped, but she didn’t utter a sound. Just over the noise of the blood pumping in her ears she could hear Eliza’s shaky breathing.

“I’m… sorry.” The silence was punctuated with an apology and the both of them returned to their seats to cool off, Helena clenching and unclenching her fists and Eliza playing with the wrench she’d used to ‘threaten’ her companion’s life only moments ago.

Eventually, a certain calm descended over the room and the hatred cleared away, leaving behind emotional exhaustion for very different reasons. “What is that message talking about, if you aren’t working with the doctor here?” Helena was the first to speak up and ask the question that was still burning at the back of her mind.

Eliza glanced up and looked Helena with a gaze far more serious than she’d carried before. “I don’t know if…” She began to protest but trailed off, loosening the hard hat and pulling it off to let her sweat-matted hair breathe. “It was from my father.” Her voice was once again small and she ran a hand down the side of her face. “Before you ask, I break in here after shift and pick through the messages.” She gestured around the room. “But yeah, my dad. Jeffery Beaton.” Her voice carried a bitter laugh and Helena was caught off guard by the revelation.

Her mind reeled as she tried to make some logical connection to what minuscule amount she knew about the family but she couldn’t find anything. Perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity but the way Eliza looked it almost felt as if it wasn’t. One thing was for certain, she didn’t act as if she’d come from wealthy stock. “Beaton? As in…?” She left the question trepidatiously open, though it was obvious what she was implying.

“One and the same.” Came the reply, bitter as the laugh that had come before. “Yeah, I grew up in Newcastle right along side ‘em, nice little manor out in the moors, all that shit. Dear ol’ mummy and daddy wanted me to inherit the fortune,  _ I  _ wanted to work with the machines Pedro showed me in the machine shop. They let me, I don’t think they thought I’d do it right but they let me.” She smiled sadly, as if she were reminiscing about something lost. “Well, I don’t think they expected it but I was damn good. So, when they caught me in my room with Marilyn, they had a nice place across the Atlantic for me, far away from them as possible.” She took a deep breath and leaned back. “I guess that’s not enough for ‘em though. Miss Manager over here,” She nodded toward the glowing monitor that still displayed the message. “caught me in a pub down in King George with Chloe and being the good little snitch she is, reported it back to dad talking shit about how I was sullying their name and shit.” She promptly stood up, turning her hard hat over in her hands a couple of times before putting it back on and grabbing her bloodstained wrench. “C’mon, we’ve still gotta check the basement.” The cheer had drained from her voice but threatened to return.

Helena glanced at the computer, then looked back to her companion, a conflict raging in her heart. She knew she had every right to be upset, but that story had shifted her from hate to sympathy, even if she wasn’t certain she believed it. “Eliza, I’m—” She began, intending to apologize for her outburst, when she was cut off.

“Don’t, I don’t want it. Let’s go.” Eliza’s voice was short and she began once again for the door without giving any pause for response, leaving Helena tailing behind in shame.

_ “Don’t, Helena. I don’t want to hear it. I’ll be home tonight.” _

_ Those had been the last words they’d spoken to each-other, words of exasperation and anger. Not a night went by that she didn’t regret it. And yet she would not stop searching for her. _

_ Her Ingrid. _

The walk back across the catwalk was marked by a sullen and tense silence, emotions still running high between them. It was there that Helena caught a silent flicker of movement from the corner of her eye, just below them. Something was moving between the machines, and though she didn’t catch a glimpse of the thing, she knew it was one of the creatures. She picked up her pace and placed a hand on Eliza’s shoulder, who immediately tensed in response. “There’s more of them below us.” Helena set aside the cocktail of negative emotions for the moment. If they died, she wouldn’t have a chance to process them. “Let me take point.”

For once, the move was not argued and the two rotated positions. Helena now took the front with her pistol in hand, ready for anything that might come for them. Her competitive nature told her to go in recklessly, firing at whatever she saw moving, but there was more on the line than some vague trophy she would never hold. And so they crept forward, inch by agonizing inch, down the stairs and onto the factory floor.

At the moment, nothing seemed to be attacking so Helena leaned back, her voice now a soft, near-inaudible whisper, “Where’s the basement?” It was the only place remaining to check, at least of the two Eliza had listed. She said a quiet prayer to Mother Mary under her breath that whatever they were looking for was in that basement, though there was little time for proper observance. The presence of these things told her that whoever was hidden here was catching on and may well cut and run at any given moment.  


“Left, right, left again, then straight forward.” The instructions were clear and undiluted by Eliza’s usual sarcasm. Finally, she seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation, or perhaps it was simply just emotional exhaustion. Helena obeyed them to the letter, weaving through the forest of vats and shelves and smelters, fingers tightening around the grip of her weapon.  


As anticipated, one of the things was not far ahead and seemed to be lying in wait near one of the corners. This time, however, Helena was ready and pressed down on the trigger with a muscle-memory calm, the kick of the gun traveling up her arm. She barely flinched as the bullet tore through the thing’s head and sent blood spattering across the side of her face as it collapsed. The two paused at that and waited for anything else that might come in search of the noise, but when they could hear no sound they continued forward.

True to Eliza’s word, the double doors leading into the storage area stood before them, the walls nearby cluttered with cardboard boxes and fresh tools waiting for use. They approached the door, each taking the other’s side. In Eliza’s hand was clutched the wrench that had so faithfully kept her alive throughout the adventure, and in Helena’s the gun that had saved her own life only moments ago. Neither made eye contact with the other, a mix of shame and prideful indignity hanging in the air.  


Without any precaution they pushed through the doors. On the other side was a set of stairs leading downward yet again, and Helena felt a rush of air flow beyond the threshold, carrying on it a foul stench. A stench of death she knew all too well. Eliza didn’t even blink, an ode to her strength, she thought. They exchanged glances, silently affirming some mutual agreement that neither was certain of before they began downward.

Almost immediately a sense of finality hung over Helena and she felt in her heart that whatever she would find down there would bring some closure to her months of searching and worrying, though for better or worse she wasn’t sure. Perhaps, she thought, it was all in her head, a hopeful conjuration that would pan out into nothing but disappointment and many more months off loneliness that would stretch perhaps until the end of her life. No, she wasn’t certain, but she felt as if she was correct, and that was, for the moment, all she had to hang on to.

The bottom of the stairwell came into sight and the sight of the tile was not a comforting one. It appeared to be coated in flaky dried blood that layered over itself, as if it had been flooded again and again over the course of several weeks. The stench was stronger now and it made her eyes water and a scratching to come to her throat, and judging by how Eliza wiped at the corners of her face, she was experiencing the same thing.

They were let out into the storage area and what lay before them hardly seemed like it belonged. All the stored equipment had been stacked in a corner to make room for a massive collection of medical equipment, none of it fresh by any stretch of the mind. Most of the tools were rusted and bent from overuse, and the beds were stained irreparably by various fluids of their previous occupants. Hunks of unused and rotting flesh filled trays and bags, much of it gathering flies. The bulk was no doubt stored in the massive freezer that was pressed up against one of the walls. Along the opposite side of the room were several ramshackle cages constructed of steel pipe and bars no doubt pillaged from the factory storerooms and shipment crates. Every one was filled to brimming with zombies standing passively. Only two cages were any different—one of which contained what were no doubt discarded projects half-completed, and one that seemed much more well-furnished than the others, intended for comfort, and only contained a single body lying on the sleeping bag in the corner.  


Helena approached that cage, peering in through the bars. Her eyes first tracked over what was inside. A chair stolen from one of the offices, a portable box television, a radio, and, curiously, a handful of what appeared to be child’s drawings on the walls. The body on the bed was a different story and she stared for several moments, feeling her heart sink with every one. She was dirty, her clothes torn but not bloody. Thin, but not as if she’d been unfed. And, crushingly of all, she didn’t seem to be breathing.

She took a deep breath, that permeating smell seeping into her lungs as she leaned up against the door, screwing her eyes shut and grabbing one of the bars as if she intended to crush it. Now was not the time to break down, not while the person who did this was still in the building, at least as far as she knew.  


The silence continued as she tried to wrangle her emotion into check, clenching and unclenching her fist around the bar and willing back silent tears of hatred and grief. Tears that fell freely when she heard a noise that brought her head snapping up.

“Helena?”

There she was, squinting through the fluorescent lights, glasses cracked and dusty. Alive, mercifully alive and well, sitting right there in front of Helena. What divine providence had brought this to be she didn’t care. “Eliza!” She shouted behind her, rousing the woman from her prodding at the zombies packed into the cages. “Get over here, I need this door open  _ now _ !” Her voice carried through the room and several of the things looked at her but she didn’t care now, all that mattered was getting the door open and ending the chase once and for all.  


“Right!” Came the response and Eliza trotted over, giving a beaming smile to Hunnigan. It seemed her playing with the caged beasts was enough to bring her mood back into the clouds as it seemed to have been before. “Let’s see here…” She muttered, looking over the hastily, constructed door and searching through her overalls for the right tool.

That search, however, seemed a mile away as Helena crammed her arm through the bars, trying to reach her long-lost lover. “Ingrid, Ingrid holy shit.” The words were all she could muster as the battered woman stood from her bed and approached the bars, taking Helena’s hand in her own. “I can’t… fucking…”  


“Right!” Eliza repeated, the last half of her exclamation cut off by a screeching of ungodly volume followed by a catastrophic clanging that echoed throughout the storage area and set the zombies into a rage, rattling the bars of their sturdy cages. “Door’s open!” She grunted as she looked down at the mess left on the floor. It seemed that the door had taken most of the right half of the cage with it.

Helena ignored the noise and nearly leapt into what remained of the cell, pulling Hunnigan into the embrace she’d been imagining for months now. Their lips met almost automatically and it seemed as if those months of stress and worry melted away into some time far past. All that mattered was the present, the knowledge that she was safe in her arms again. She didn’t want to let go, her body protested fiercely but she knew she had to, she knew the sounds would draw something in soon. “Are you okay?” She panted out, shooting several glances over her shoulder in a wary search. Eliza had retreated to watch the door as well, seemingly just as nervous about whatever would be coming down those stairs next.

“I’m okay, Helena.” Hunnigan seemed almost to be in a state of shock, or some sort of trance. Helena wanted nothing more than to shake her out of it but there wasn’t much time. “Come on, she’s going to be here any second. You brought a car, right?” She spoke as if she knew something horrible was coming, but there was hope that crept in nonetheless. Helena nodded wordlessly and she felt herself being pulled along toward the steps. “Good, then we need to go.” That commanding tone seemed to cut through the air of death in the room. “Eliza, was it?” She pointed to the girl, who nodded. “Thank you for getting me out of there. We’re leaving, come on.” Her words were short and no-nonsense, something Helena expected but wasn’t hoping for.

“Right.” Eliza said for the third time since they’d entered the room. “You lead on, then.” She nodded her head upward. “You should probably give  _ her  _ the gun, Helena. Looks like she knows what she’s doing.” Her smile returned but it wasn’t reciprocated.

“No. Helena, keep the gun, you lead the way out.” Hunnigan pointed upward, her tattered sleeve giving way and slipping off of her arm. Her whole body seemed to be caked in dirt, but there still wasn’t any blood to speak of and for that Helena took a moment to silently thank Mary. “Just…” She paused and her voice seemed troubled, nervous almost. “Be careful.” She finished shortly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure whatever she was looking for wasn’t already in the room.

“Okay.” Helena nodded, taking a shaky breath to steady herself. It was rare for Hunnigan to be outwardly nervous like this and she knew almost immediately that something big and dangerous would make her like this. With one final check to the chamber of her gun, she began up the stairs, significantly more slowly than she had before to accomodate Hunnigan’s no doubt frail state. Despite her projected air of control, she was visibly weakened and much thinner than Helena remembered. She made a mental note to kill whoever had done this to her as painfully as she could.  


The doors swung out onto the factory floor and immediately collided with a sickening thud against something on the other side. Helena didn’t get a good look at it before one of the long-legged creatures lunged at her and tore a gash across her shoulder. With a cry, she fired her weapon into the air, watching helplessly as the bullet passed through one of the air vents. Though Eliza was quick to jump in with her wrench, another one of the things struck her across the back as she caved in the skull of the one attacking Helena and sent her through one of the shelves and out of sight.  


On the floor the creature that had been hit by the door scrambled to its feet and lunged at Hunnigan. All at once they stopped as an ear-piercing scream echoed from the walls. So intense was the sound that Helena dropped her weapon to shield her ears. It sustained itself far longer than any normal set of lungs could handle and she could barely see that Hunnigan was doing the same, leaned up against the wall for support.

And then it stopped in an instant, leaving behind ringing ears that she could hear nothing through. The pain behind her eyes had grown immense and she collapsed to the floor, shaking and trying to regain her breath as her head practically vibrated. With what strength she could muster, she looked up to see what had made the sound.

Approaching Hunnigan was what seemed to be a nurse, though she certainly was of no type Helena would want to be treated by. Instead of a set of modern scrubs, she wore a thin, sleeveless apron and skirt, cinched at the waist with a cord that covered a pale green, short-sleeved shirt with a collar that seemed to be starched with care. The whole outfit seemed to be covered intermittently in stains, but not of anything Helena had ever seen before, instead carrying a soft blue tint to them. Over her face was tied what looked almost like a pillowcase, hugging the contours of her face but not showing enough for Helena to get a clear idea of what it might look like.  


The woman approached Hunnigan with a shambling gait, her right leg dragging limply behind her. Although she could hear the vibrations of speech, she couldn’t make anything out through the incessant and oppressive ringing that threatened to continue well into the night it seemed. An altercation seemed to break out, but neither made any moves toward the other, instead simply shouting at each-other. Although Helena wanted to intervene, one of the creatures was hugging her gun close to its chest. Impotently she watched.

Within a few moments the ringing began to clear up and she could finally hear what was being said, though none of it was comforting.

“--ay way from me!” Hunnigan was shouting, brandishing one of the pipes from the basement. Helena didn’t remember her taking that pipe, nor did she remember seeing it when she was walking behind. Where had she gotten it?

“Please!” The nurse seemed to be begging and the moisture on the front of her mask seemed to indicate she was crying. “I can’t let you—I just want…” She trailed off into sobbing and the creatures seemed to make a move to protect her, but paused in a lurch as if they’d had their collars tugged at.  


“Just stay away, let me go home!” Hunnigan’s words were somewhere between a plea and a command, wavering madly between the two with every one she spoke.  


“I don’t want—”  


The shouting match was cut short by a clanking sound. With a triumphant shout from her attacker, the nurse crumpled to her knees, shrieking once again, though not quite as loudly. “Come on!” Eliza’s voice cut through the chaos of the creatures reacting and Helena scrambled to her feet. Hunnigan, no doubt just as eager, had already rushed past and was dashing madly after Eliza, leaving Helena in the dust to catch up.  


The sounds of pursuit were hot on their heels as they fled for their lives from the factory, Eliza guiding them with an expert’s foot back along the path they had come. For all that she was starved, adrenaline seemed to be carrying Hunnigan on the way and Helena seemed to be having a hard time keeping up, the pain in her head sapping her energy away.

Back through the unlit lobby they tore and Eliza nearly flung herself at the doors to force them open, almost falling flat on her face as she slipped on the wet pavement. Hunnigan, thinking fast on her feet, kept the woman upright and they kept running, the constant and unrelenting downpour assaulting them.  


Although they could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit behind them, they kept going until they reached Helena’s car, piling in without a word of argument between them. In the front seat sat Eliza with Helena behind the wheel, and Hunnigan chose the back, collapsing almost instantly across the seats. As Helena slammed the reverse, the wheels screeched against the wet pavement before they were sent back into the fields surrounding the factory. With scarcely a pause for recovery, she threw it back into drive and returned to the asphalt and began speeding back toward King George, no longer caring for the speed limit or safety.

* * *

It was a time before any of them spoke, and the first to break the silence was Eliza. “I left my car back there.” She lamented, pulling off her hardhat and leaning up against the plush seat. “I hope they don’t steal it for their getaway.” It seemed she was remarkably unfazed by the whole thing and was barely even breathing hard anymore, though it seemed she was habitually watching the mirrors to make certain nothing was coming up behind them.

“What  _ was  _ that?” Helena ignored the quips and glanced back at Hunnigan, certain that she of all people would have the answers. What she saw in the back seat in that split second broke her heart. It was no doubt that Ingrid was durable, but in proper light her state was abysmal. Her clothes torn, her glasses cracked, her hair tangled and stringy. Never before had someone looked so resolute, yet so beaten.  


Hunnigan took a moment, seeming to replay the events in her head for a time before she responded. “It’s…” She was going to wave it off as a ‘long story’, no doubt, but she knew that Helena wouldn’t gave up. “Her name was Jordan. I… think. She kept me there to ‘keep me safe’ from the ‘bad people’. I don’t know who they were, she never told me, but she refused to let me go.” She paused and looked up to the driver’s seat. “Thank you, Helena.” Her voice was sincere and relieved for the first time since she’d been rescued. “I…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Thank you.”  


“I wasn’t going to leave you there.” Her words were reaffirming, though she thought it may have been to reassure herself as well. “Are you hurt, did she… did she do anything to you?” Helena didn’t like what she herself was implying, but it was a question that had been eating at her.  


“No. Just kept me in the cage. A lot of cages.” Hunnigan ran a weary hand down her face. “Give me your phone.” She held her hand out, though it was Eliza who grabbed the device from the cupholder and placed it in her hand. “Thank you.” Ingrid mumbled and powered it on, inputting the passcode she knew by heart and pulling up the call screen.

* * *

The hospital was teeming with DSO agents by the break of dawn, though it was barely discernible through the rain anymore. Hunnigan lay comfortably in a bed, an IV drip feeding her fluids for the dehydration she was suffering, as well as a treatment round of anti-parasitics for the nasty things that had found their way into her food during captivity.  


Helena slept soundly in a chair in the corner while Eliza spoke with an agent outside the door, giving her own account of the events that had occured in the steel plant. With a soft sigh, Hunnigan leaned back against her pillow and stared out the door, looking over her still-dirty arms. Although they had cleaned her off to a degree, she would still need a long shower when she got home.  


The very thought filled her with a sense of vague longing, something she couldn’t place after so long away. She’d spent longer away from her home, from Helena’s home, but it was never enough to make her forget what it looked like, what it smelled like and felt like, but those months spent locked away seemed to do just the trick.

In honesty, she wasn’t certain how long she’d been gone until the director had confirmed it to her directly. Perhaps it had been years or maybe just days to her mind, trapped in the corner of the room. The radio and television were never much help, they were never anywhere they could recieve a steady signal, and yet Jordan kept giving them to her anyway.

Despite what she’d been put through, she couldn’t help a certain pity for the woman, no matter how sick she seemed to be. No matter how many times she saw her mangling a fresh zombie to put together one of the creatures she called her children, no matter how many times they screamed at one-another, she didn’t feel hatred, only sadness.  


“Hey.” A soft voice roused her from her thoughts and she looked over to see Helena standing at her side. A hand brushed away the stringy hair that clung to her forehead and they looked at one another with smiles. For now, it seemed, Hunnigan was safe, and never did she feel more so than with Helena at her side. The time away had obviously taken its own toll on the woman, where once her toned arms showed even through the sleeves of her shirts, she was far skinnier and seemed weaker. Bags dominated the space beneath her eyes and her hair had grown longer out of neglect. It hurt to see her this way, even if she knew there was little she could’ve done about it.

“Hey.” Hunnigan repeated, resting her head against one of the many pillows she’d requested and heaving a weary sigh. “The doctor said I can go home in a few hours, they just have to make sure I’m okay first.” She glanced back toward the door, where Eliza’s loud voice was still recounting the events of the night prior. “Who’s that?” She couldn’t help but ask the question. Seeing Helena show up with some mysterious new companion wasn’t the most comforting thing.

“Hmm?” Helena hummed and looked over toward the door, momentarily puzzled before the connection clicked. “Oh! That’s Eliza, she’s the one who made the call that brought me out here. Apparently she stuck around and got herself caught, and when I rescued her she wouldn’t leave so I brought her along.” She shrugged, “She’s annoying as fuck but.... Well, she’s good with the wrench.”

Ingrid chuckled softly and looked back to Helena, reaching up and taking her hand. “Thank you. Again. I don’t think I ever would’ve gotten out of there if you didn’t come for me.” She was nothing but sincere, as much as she disliked admitting she was incapable of saving herself, it was the only conclusion she was able to draw from her time trying. Of all Jordan’s faults, she was good at making cages.  


“I never gave up.” Helena seemed distant for a moment. “Not one day went by that I didn’t think about riding in and saving you. I followed every lead we got, even when it didn’t lead anywhere I kept going. And I’m… I’m glad I did.” Tears threatened her eyes but never fell and she gave a sad smile that sent a pang of mixed emotions straight to Hunnigan’s heart.

“I knew you’d never give up on me.” She squeezed Helena’s hand softly, able to breathe that much easier with her nearby.

“Never.” Helena affirmed, bending over to kiss Hunnigan once again. It was fast, but it felt like an eternity right in that moment, something she never thought she’d feel again, something unhindered by fear or urgency as the kiss in the factory had been. All was well in that moment and she knew it.

“Ah, sorry.” Eliza’s voice cut in to the moment and they both turned to look at the woman. She still looked as disorganized as ever, though the hospital hadn’t allowed her to take her tools inside. Even without them she looked as if she was ready to fix an electrical problem at a moment’s notice. “I just wanted to say bye to you guys, I’m headed back off home to sleep this shit off and from what I hear you live pretty far away from down here. So… I guess this is it then.” She smiled and it almost seemed pained, “Helena, good workin’ with you. Even if you can’t shoot for shit.” Her small laugh was finally reciprocated by her former companion. “And you, Ingrid I think. You’re lucky to have her.” She seemed slightly saddened by those words but didn’t elaborate on the sentiment.  


“Good working with you too, Eliza. Stay safe, don’t get kidnapped anymore.” Helena gave a genuine smile, “If we ever need someone to fix something at HQ I’ll give them your number.”

“Well I’m sure I’m out of a job after this shit so I appreciate it.” Eliza returned the smile and raised a hand in farewell. “See you guys.” She waited for her goodbye to be mirrored before turning back and walking out of the room, shutting the door behind her.  


Helena looked back down to Hunnigan, letting go of her hand and pulling up her chair. “You should get some sleep, the drive back home is pretty long.” She sank down into the seat with a sigh and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll be right here, don’t worry.”

And Hunnigan didn’t, laying back and drifting off to her first comfortable sleep in months, thoughts lingering only on home.


End file.
